Around the fur
by Vernon Danforth
Summary: Speak. I don't get it.


"Sometimes I look at people and I see nothing worth liking."  
-Daniel Plainview (There will be blood)

* * *

My name is Maurice. I felt it necessary to start with that.

I suppose I don't really know where else to start. I'm really not all that interesting. Don't particularly like myself, no matter what I seem to accomplish in the eyes of these people.

My history isn't much to tell. My story doesn't start until now, and I'm not exactly sure why now is the proper time to start telling it. It just feels right, I suppose.

It just feels like the right place to start, if any.

Okay, so you're probably asking  
"Alright Maurice. Where are you now? Set the scene for us, Maurice."

You got it.

I'm sitting here in my apartment, staring at the wall. Picking at my shoe and wondering how the fuck I got here. Protecting these stupid people I care nothing about. But why?

I'll tell you why.

Why it started. Why I'm here now. Why I'm asking myself a stupid fucking question I already know the answer to.

It's simple; competition.

Dr. Robotnik was something that needed to be destroyed. The competition I didn't want or need. A reason to kill, maybe.

But now I'm a hero. It's fucking expected. You give people a foot, and they will run a mile with it. Have you ever let an entire community suckle from your teat? I tell you, it isn't pleasant. Not in the slightest.

So, why do you help them now? Now that your competition is gone? He asks me this once again. He asks me this quite a lot. Why do I keep playing police man?

I don't know, I tell him. I just don't know.

Because I have to?

Why?

He's always asking questions. He is me. I am my own constant interrogation.

But I don't have an answer for myself.

You're pathetic.

I know it. I always have been.

What do I say to that? Nothing. I can't say shit.

So I sit here and stare at the wall, wondering why I'm such a failure.

A failure? most would ask. You? But you defeated Robotnik! And you keep the city safe.

Exactly. For who?

Not me. I'm safe. I don't need protection.

They do.

Now I have all this money from endorsements. How can I enjoy it?

Am I allowed to just sit back and relax now? Fuck no.

I'm on call twenty-four/seven.

My priorities consist of the city; after that, I get some me time. Maybe.

I just want to go away. Take this money and bounce, but it would be useless anywhere else. Plus, I don't know how to farm. Hunting would be easy, but would it be enough?

I don't know. I simply don't know.

What does a man do when his life is not his? How does one go about taking it back?

Easy.

Hah. Easier said than done.

Not exactly.

I always speak to myself in riddles. I can never figure myself out.

So what am I?

A hero? A hero? A hero? A hero? A hero?

But why me?

I just want to sit on my ass. Live off welfare.

I want to be an average asshole. Not special in any way or ways.

How hard would it be to just sit on ass?

What do I mean?

It's simple. Just stop.

Stop? How?

Easy as that, stupid. Stop.

The phone is ringing. I start to get up.

Did you not hear me?

What?

Stop. Start with whoever that is. Fuck them. They don't matter. You know who matters? Yourself.

But do I? Do I matter?

More than they do. We know that we're real, don't we?

Of course I'm real. So is everyone else. What's your point?

About as real as a dream or fantasy. This is your life. Don't live it for others.

I think that's the smartest thing I've ever said.

Just stop. Stop answering calls. Stop helping people.

I can just sit on my ass. Why did it not occur to me before?

Just quit.

I don't even have to say anything. I think they will figure it out. Get the message.

On the other hand, they are stupid. That's why they need me.

Fuck it.

Let's just see what happens.

* * *

Television.

The stupid box.

The mass brainwashing device.

Oh how I love and loathe it simultaneously.

Every time I watch the television, I can feel my intelligence melting away.

My innovations. My motivation.

My individuality, even.

On one channel, people argue over who owes what money to who. Small claims court battles over practically nothing. This is reality television at its finest.

On another channel, someone tries to sell me knives. Knives that won't cut. Decorative shit. You can see how dull it is from the ad. They fill silence with telephone rings. As if these items are hot and flying from the shelves.

I can go to a local store and actually get something that cuts.

Something that actually kills. But I wouldn't need it.

I'm fucking Sonic the hedgehog.

On another channel an old fairy tale I loved as a child is reenacted by the finest (most popular) actors of our time.

Hah.

Most people look at this and feel nostalgia for something that is lost. Innocence. Childhood.

I feel embarrassment. I feel shame.

Nostalgia doesn't come from the past, for me. It's more of a presence thing. Losing yourself in a moment; a song, maybe. A film. Maybe even a painting. In that moment, you escape the world and all its bullshit.

It's almost equivalent to a line of cocaine, except the fact that I have indeed done cocaine, so the temporary nostalgia is less satisfying.

Sorry, I'm getting off track. The point is that I can't look to the past; I see no point in it. That moment that your trying to relive is over; all you bring back is pain. Pain accompanied with nostalgia.

The past. A drug all on its own.

Click.

On another channel, people are wondering where I am. It says crime rate is at an all time high. So? What should I care?

Go buy a knife.

* * *

Sometimes I like staring out my window. I like to stare at the people and create little scenarios in my head. Negative ones. Look at that fat man. He'll probably keel over and die within the next year. That old woman? Probably alone and hating it. Suffering, like everyone should. It's life.

I'm on a sweet on the third floor, so I can see them fairly well. My vision is also very keen, along with all my other senses.

Except maybe smell. I smoke too much for that.

Cigarettes. Cocaine. Living for a short burst of happiness.

Life is kind of like a cigarette, or a line of cocaine. Figuratively speaking, of course.

You have a sudden burst of happiness. It lasts a while, and the whole time you're on it you want more. But when you're out, you feel dissatisfied. Empty almost.

After so much of this, one dies.

The only question to ask yourself at the end is; was it worth it? Were the times good enough to be had?

The answer will always be the same.

"I could have done more"

* * *

The phone stopped ringing a long time ago. Not because they stopped calling; no, no, no! For all I know they're calling right now.

I ripped the fucker out of the wall. Ripped it right out, And stomped on the fucker.

You'd think they would get the message, but god forbid that. Something must be wrong with me, right? I wouldn't just quit on you guys. No, I must be sick.

Fucking imbeciles.

Knocking. Constant knocking. I've ignored for thirty minutes now.

"Sonic?"

I think it's Tails. Or maybe Sally. Fuck, you can't tell the difference. Both sound like girls.

Fuck off. Just please fuck off.

Finally the knocking stops.

Finally.

Oh hush, you.

…

Ah, yes. Finally.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Golden.

* * *

A pint of whiskey. My only friend.

Fuck a glass. Drink it straight from the bottle.

An expensive whiskey. One of taste.

I like to think of myself as a man of taste. A man of style.

I like to think a lot of things.

A big hit from the bottle puts me in my place. Lean back on the couch. The world is spinning. Gravity has lost all meaning. I'm going to be sick.

Fuck that. Ride it out. I'll be okay. It's just burp.

A cough transitioning to a burp. Gag.

Here it comes. Up my throat, out of my mouth and onto the front of me.

My legs and sneakers covered in puke.

Here we go again.

A wave of vomiting. Broken up into sections. It hurts. I think I'm alright then I puke again.

So it goes.

Is this whiskey stronger?

Is it the alcohol, or am I just sick of mys….?

zZz

* * *

Bang.

A banging sound.

From my door.

"Sonic!"

That isn't my name.

I hate it so much.

"Sonic! Open up!"

Fuck off.

Tired..

The banging continues. A headache becomes apparent. I hold whatever asshole that is outside accountable.

Banging.

"Fuck off!" I tell them, but there is no response.

Only more banging.

Fucker.

"Alright, coming."

There's no telling how long it took me to get up. It was hard, I know that much. And it took a long time.

God damn it, that banging is starting to piss me the fuck off.

Picking up the whiskey bottle, and staggering over to the door, I look through the peep hole. Sure enough, it's Tails and all of his femininity. Has he outed yet? I wonder…

Take a hit from the bottle and open the door. He looks surprised.

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

"What do you want?"

People are so fucking stupid.

"Um… are you okay?"

"No. You woke me up, and now you aren't getting to the point. You're pissing me off."

"Oh! Well, I apologize. Would you mind if I come in?"

Sigh.

"Whatever."

Take another sip, and walk to the couch.

Plop down.

This place is a mess. Beer cans everywhere. Fast food wrappers and bags all over the place. Old stale fries. Half eaten burgers. What little glasses and dishes I own scattered about the place.

Home.

"Aw, jeez. Aw jeez, Sonic. What are you doing to yourself?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You're a mess, here. What's wrong? Where have you been! The city is in chaos."

"What's it been? Four weeks?"

"Try four months. What the heck is wrong with you?"

"Wow. Time sure flies. You kinda lose track of it after you've…"

"Abandoned the city?"

That pisses me off. My blood is boiling. My hairs are standing on end.

"I don't like your tone, fox."

"I have a name, you know."

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. You have many names."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it. What the fuck are you doing here? I called for no visitors."

"So, what? You've just given up to this pathetic existence of putting on weight, and trying to match it in alcohol?"

That mother fucker. That ballsy piece of shit.

"Fuck the city! Fuck you too, 'Tails'. You fucking faggot."

"What?!"

"You heard me. Fuck you. You and all your bullshit. Fuck the world and everything that comes with it. But most of all fuck you. Fuck you, you fame-starved queer. You fucking cocksucker. Get out of my house."

He just stares at me with this shocked look in his eye. Like he can't find the words. Like he can't believe it's real.

He sniffles and his eyes tear up. He starts to whine.

"What? What's that? You're going to cry now, is that it? You're going to cry like the fucking girl you are? Well do it outside. Far away."

He just keeps crying.

"NOW! Get the fuck out!"

I point to the door, and he finally understands the message he has received with his inferior mind.

He gets up and runs to the door.

"Get back to my shadow where you belong, you queer!"

The door slams.

"Fucking dandy.."

Take another drink from the bottle.

Mmm…

* * *

Outside is more entertaining than television now. Looking outside, rather.

I wouldn't want to be out there for any reason, but it's fun to watch.

Rioting. Theft, beatings. Murder sometimes. Most victims just give in.

When they fight back they usually get shot. A police force could do wonders around here. I'd suggest it to them, but fuck that. I quit, remember? Four weeks ago. Months. Whatever.

There's a buzzing at the door. Probably my food and whiskey. Must be. I ordered it like thirty minutes ago. Thank god we live in a place where food and alcohol can be delivered by lesser beings. Their dedication and diligence is something to be desired, though. Fuckers.

I like to think that I'm responsible for that. It makes me feel good inside.

Walking to the door, I swing it open without checking who it is.

"Took you long enough."

But it isn't my food.

It's Sally. And she's crying.

Fuck. This was the last thing I needed.

The princess shows up at my fucking door.

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

Her voice is actually deeper that Tails'.

"I mean, uh… yes?"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Quitting"

"No you're not. What you're doing is pissing me off."

Ugh.

"Alright, mom. Call you when I give a shit."

"What?!"

"You didn't hear?"

"What did you just say?!"

"Don't worry about it."

Swing the door closed. Her foot wedges itself between the door and the wall, and she slithers through.

God damn it.

"You aren't just going to shut the door in my face!"

"I'm sorry."

"No you aren't!"

"I know it."

"Ugh!"

"Is that it? Are we finished here?"

"I am ordering you, Sonic. As your queen, I am ordering you to get off your ass, and protect our streets!"

"And what will protect you from me, princess?"

You can see her facing turning read behind her red hair. Behind her brown her.

"Did you just fucking threaten me? You are done, hedgehog! DONE! D-O-N-"

Cut her off. Acting on instinct. Hands go right for the throat.

Using my momentum and gravity, I bring us down.

Choking her with my right hand and ripping away the fur on her face.

She can't make a sound.

He face is red and purple on the inside.

Sally.. such a pretty woman.

Such as people. Pretty on the outside. Cute, even.

But once you get around the fur? They're all ugly.


End file.
